


Rookie

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Original Character(s), Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:56:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13948161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: A new agent, not yet Survival-School trained, arrives and learns what a real spy is





	Rookie

**Author's Note:**

> LJ Short Affair Challenge. 12 March 2018. Prompts: lounge, dark blue

**Rookie**

There were a few late-comers remaining in the canteen. At one table sat a group of Section Three men entertaining a new recruit, Ed Perez, with lurid tales about the exploits of the different sections. The quiet entrance of two men would have escaped their attention had Ken not stood up to get more coffee and noticed them.

“Hey, tell Ed about those two, and I’ll get them to join us.”

They looked round. “Ah, now those are senior Section Two agents. You need to be careful around people in that Section – very short fuses, very fast reactions. They don’t lounge around like some I could mention,” said George, eyeing the thickening waistline of his neighbour.

“Get lost, George. This is paid for,” said the culprit, complacently patting his stomach.

“You may have heard of them, Ed,” George continued, “Napoleon Solo and his partner, Illya Kuryakin, our tame Russian – well, not very tame – who represents our claim to be a non-partisan, multinational organisation. But don’t tell him I said so, he’s got one hell of a right hook.”

“Solo, on the other hand,” said his plump neighbour, “Solo is our resident Lothario. The girls flock around him like wasps round a honey pot.”

“And not Kuryakin? He’s quite good looking.”

“The girls don’t flock around him exactly, from fear of frostbite mostly, and of course from what I hear…” but whatever that might have been remained unstated as the two objects of this gossip arrived at the table.

The two agents sat down and Ed, observing them surreptitiously, thought he’d never seen such opposites in partnership. Dark-light, urbane-morose, extrovert-introvert, elegant … not elegant, eloquent-taciturn. Extraordinary.

Solo asked Ed about himself with a breezy charm, and even listened with apparent interest. Kuryakin concentrated on his plate and glanced up only occasionally and almost shyly. He said nothing.

They were in a hurry it seemed; as soon as they’d eaten, Napoleon rose, “Good luck with Survival School, see you again, Ed.” He patted Illya’s shoulder, “Coming, partner? We have to go.”

The others watched them leave. “And they work together?” asked Perez. “They didn’t even speak to each other.”

“Don’t need to.” said Ken. “People get to be closer than brothers in Section Two. See how they move together? Always watching each other’s backs. Must be exhausting. Me, I prefer a quieter life, not tied to the safety of another person.”

“How do you get to be Section Two?”

“First you have to survive Jules Cutter.”

“Who?”

“He’s the main reason it’s called Survival School. You’ll find out.”

oo000oo

Walking around the Village later that night and assessing the claims of various restaurants, Ed found himself behind a figure he recognised. That blond head was unmistakeable, though after what gossip had suggested he hadn’t expected to see him with a young woman. He watched them enter a small Italian restaurant and thought he’d follow and see how long he could remain unobserved by his quarry – just for practice, of course.

It was agreeably atmospheric. The walls and ceiling were dark green and the tables dimly lit by candles in Chianti bottles on dark blue table cloths. Kuryakin was visible near the back of the restaurant, his hair gleaming in the flickering light on his table. Perez, being a lone diner, was led to a table near the kitchen door to be half hidden by a piece of trellis – isolated from the rest of the room, but it was ideal for his purposes. He watched Kuryakin and his girl order and then how, left alone, they clasped hands and leaned towards each other… but at that moment his view was obscured by the waiter, come to take his own order. Not really wanting to be a peeping Tom, Perez forbore to look again for a while, though when he did, their close communion continued and he looked away again.

They were drinking Chianti; Perez had decided on Italian beer – a whole bottle of Chianti wouldn’t be a good idea. They each had a plate of delicate caprese salad before their scaloppine arrived. Twirling his spaghetti and sucking it into his mouth a little too enthusiastically, Perez discovered the sense of their choice. Tomato sauce goes everywhere and doesn’t readily come out of a white shirt. Consoling himself with the thought that the Del Floria staff might manage it, he refrained from rubbing at it and making it worse.

He looked round at Kuryakin and his girl again. They were waiting for dessert and holding hands again, looking into each other’s eyes. Their evening was obviously going to end quite well. His dish of beef stew looked overwhelming after the pasta, and again he reluctantly applauded their choice, particularly after dropping some of it on his tie.

When he looked up again, they were finishing their zabaglione. Their espresso coffees and cognac arrived quickly while he was still struggling with the stew. Flushed and uncomfortably full, Perez decided against a dessert and ordered coffee. “Cognac, signore?”

“No, no cognac. Just the check.”

It was just as Perez realised belatedly that he had very little cash on him, that Kuryakin startled him by leaning over the trellis and saying gently, “I’ll pay your bill, Mr Perez. Pasta al pomodoro, spezzatino di manzo, espresso and Peroni, is that right? You can pay me back tomorrow. Good night.”

Without waiting for Perez to reply – which, with his jaw where it was, he couldn’t have anyway – Kuryakin smiled and returned to the girl. They left, rapturously entwined, heading presumably for a bed of roses – in contrast to the rookie’s bed awaiting Perez in UNCLE headquarters.

“Must have known I was there before I even went in. Jeez. Wonder if Survival School teaches that,” muttered Perez. “Didn’t even need his partner watching his back.”

**ooo0000ooo**


End file.
